The Soldier and his dancer
by magicsciencegirl
Summary: Pink to blue, to red, to black. Even though the performance was perfect, the steadfast tin soldier watches his beloved ballerina fall. (I can't friggin' do summaries, okay?...My first fanfic: Pandora Hearts/Steadfast Tin Soldier/and a creepy dream I just happened to have last night))


**CAUTION TO ALL READERS: I am experimenting (emphasis on the word "_experimenting") _with my first ever fan fiction (huzzah), and it is... bad, and weird. So yeah. If you don't like it, remember: I made this for _moi, _not you, so keep your useless complaints to yourself. However, if you do like it, or have any _constructive _criticism, you are welcome to comment and stuff. I'd be glad to read your feedback. (I can't stand those reviews that say you hate something, but don't explain why. I mean, seriously? Give a reason, people!) This is a Pandora hearts fanfic filled with metaphors (Doesn't everyone love those things?) and inspired by The Steadfast Tin Soldier (There are some obvious references, but other than that and a few other subtle stuff, it's mostly just adapted from a dream I had. heh) and Wavily's beautiful fan art ( The URL can't be pasted here, so just google search "Steadfast Tin Soldier/Pandora Hearts Tumblr" and it should come up. ) ****So here's my fanfic... enjoy, or don't, or think I'm mentally unstable... whatever floats your boat. A freak such as myself does not own Pandora Hearts, which belongs to the ever-amazing Mochijun-sensei... or The Steadfast Tin Soldier, which is the work of another genius who goes by the name of Hans Christian Andersen.**

**Now let's see if any of you can figure this out... :|**

* * *

_Blood on dress, dress on bone  
My little dolly, do your sin  
and wish for death_

One hundred and sixteen men, women, and children sat in the one hundred and sixteen seats of the Opera house. Eyes glued on the lovely performers, they sat motionless. One violinist and five singers caroled in perfect harmony, and the cheerfulness expressed in the music brought joy to the faces of everyone in the audience. They sang with such magnificence that it seemed to stop the flow of time so you could just get lost in that one precious forever. Even more beautiful than the smooth stream of voices was a little paper girl in pink at the center of the stage, dancing and twirling with a shining smile, soft like the rising sun. A large spangle stood out on her dress. Her delicate feet hopped up and down, always steady and light as the air through which she flowed like water.

Her beam entranced the audience with its delight, but there was a small puddle of sadness in her eyes that would only be visible if you looked really hard. The boy she was waiting for had not arrived yet. _It is almost intermission, _she thought forlornly. Her little tin soldier will miss seeing her dance.

At the start of the hiatus, just as she was about to glide delicately backstage after her family, the pretty ballerina spotted the boy at the back of the opera house. The young knight ran down the isle to greet her, and they met at the edge of the stage. Apologizing softly for being late, he kissed the back of her dainty hand. She gave him one of her sweetest grins and skipped happily behind the closing curtain, light on her feet like a gazelle.

The toy soldier went to look for his seat. It was in the front row, where he could proudly watch his paper ballerina float across the stage easily. But when he turned around, he saw it was taken by another unidentifiable member of the audience, an empty smile plastered on his face, just like all the rest of them. Their deep eye sockets rested on the velvet curtain.

"Excuse me, sir." The little knight bowed politely. "I believe that is my seat." The man's fading white face just stared ahead and paid the poor boy no mind. He waited, like a good soldier, for the man to move. Finally, he decided that he would be a gentleman and help the obviously incompetent man to stand up. He looped his arm through the older one and pulled at the stiff limb. The body crumpled to his feet with a clatter and disintegrated right before his eyes. All that was left was an old dress suit splattered with red paint.

The little soldier boy didn't know what to make of this. Not knowing if it was his fault or not, he sat down in the now empty seat and waited for the next act with the silence of stillness around the room. Finally, the curtain opened and when the spotlight opened on the ballerina, the boy turned to the woman next to him and asked proudly, "Isn't she beautiful?" The woman just smiled stiffly and cried tears of crimson.

The music started, but their was one less voice accompanying the violin. The happy song seemed to hold an air of melancholy, slower and more cautious than it should have been. The little dancer twirled just as elegantly, but her dress was a dark blue and her spangle had dulled. When they left to prepare for the next scene, the little boy's claps echoed around the hall, disturbing the deathly silence. He quickly stopped, but he kicked his legs back and forward like a small child and waited. His feet splashed in the inch deep pool of roses covering the floor, its metallic scent stinging his nose.

In the next scene, there were only three singers and the violinist played a sad tune. Then the ballerina pranced forward in a most brilliant red, capturing the soldier's eyes once more. She danced and left. Another scene started and this time, there was no doubt that the music was filled with bereavement as dancer's tear-filled eyes focused on her little hands spinning high above her head, accompanied by two singers. In the next act, the last singer sang alongside the violinist and little dancer in red with tear tracks on her cheeks. Finally, the three performers when backstage once more. Only two returned. The violin played a haunting melody as the beautiful dancer kept twirling in her beautiful costume stained with crimson.

Again, the artists left the stage. When the last scene started, only the little paper ballerina, this time covered in a black velvet, performed; dancing to the din of silence, alone in her vast infinity. The toy soldier smiled at her beauty, unaware that she was crying, and not realizing how superficial his happiness was. There was only one ending to a spectacle like this. But the soldier already knew that, having starred in one himself.

Was it over? Still stubbornly smiling, the little knight cried. He wiped his hand on his moist left cheek and found it darkened with blood.

_The Dancer had blown straight into the fire with the soldier, blazed up in a flash, and was gone. The soldier melted into a little tin heart. But nothing was left of the pretty dancer except her spangle, and it was burnt as black as coal._

Heeey, my steadfast tin soldier! The Opera house doors are locked behind you, and I've been wondering... how much longer do you plan on playing sane?

* * *

**Hmmm... Let's examine the chain of causality here: 1) I'm on tumblr 2) I see a Pandora Hearts fan art with a big reference to "The Steadfast tin Soldier", which I've never read 3) I read "The Steadfast Tin soldier" 4) I love it, and it makes me sad 5) when I'm sad, I think dark thoughts 6) I go to sleep, (sobbing)** **7) I have a dream about "The Steadfast Tin Soldier" and an opera house scenario similar to the one in this story. (where _that_ came from, I don't know) 8) I wake up and go about my daily business, blah blah blah, but that's a tangent to my story, blah blah 9) I'm on my computer, still obsessing (cough) thinking about everything that I read/saw/dreamt about yesterday and I think, "Hey, why not write about it, adapting everything together into an experimental fanfic! It'll be funnnnn!" (FOOL) 10) I reread my fanfic and, lo and behold! I discover for the 553,721st time that I have a dark and twisted imagination. - ****THE END!**


End file.
